He limped where she led him, leaving a trail of slush and mud on the worn area rug and plank floors. Dumping her ungrateful cargo into a spindle chair, she fell back onto the floor, splayed and panting.
The remnants of a fire were burning, warming the small space, but from the look of ice crusting her guest’s clothing, it was clear more work had to be done immediately to prevent the sting of frostbite.
Stringy strands of hair escaped a pair of long braids and lay plastered to her face. She ignored them, using her teeth to pull off her thick gloves. Spitting them to the side, River rolled up as quickly as she could to tear at the laces of the stranger’s boots. Ignoring the bite of the floor against her kneecaps, she yanked, freeing a huge wet foot, throwing the sodden shoe behind her before reaching for the man’s damaged ankle.
There was no gentleness, no concern for potential broken bones. She took the wet leather, peeling it away to throw it where its partner was marking the floor in a puddle. Next, his jacket zipper was yanked down, the garment parted and shoved over the swell of broad shoulders.
River tugged, pulling, yanking, to get her way and take the damn thing off the motionless brute. She fought him for the jacket. When he did not obey, she kicked his bad ankle.
Sudden pain halted foolish resistance. Fingers flying, every layer covering his top half was forced over his head, each sodden garment dropped unceremoniously to the floor.
All was too rushed to recognize the state of his flesh before her, to count the scars or the bruising, or even admire that he was pure muscle with hardly enough body fat to keep him warm. Once he was bare-chested, she scurried toward the small couch, snagged a homespun blanket and wrapped it over his shivering shoulders.
“There now.” Her voice was softer, River tucking the fabric around him.
She went for his belt. He resisted, shivering, when she yanked at the buckle.
“Shy, hmm?” It was mildly amusing. Cocking her lips, she pinched him until his hands moved out of her way. “I have never met a man who didn’t want to jump out of his clothes when I started to undress him…”
The glare he gave her… it was something to be seen.
“Tough crowd…” she gave a nasal snort, stripping his belt from the loops. “Well, stranger, I have seen a naked man before. To be honest, you all got the same parts, so I promise I won’t act the blustering maiden should I see your dick.”
He was giving her that look again, and she was still smirking, pulling downward on his zipper.
A moment later her upturned eyes found his, but her expression was serious. “If you struggle or kick me, there will be consequences.”
The stranger did not nod, he only held her eyes.
Bunching the wet fabric at his thigh, it took River four or five good yanks to force the wet pants from under his weight. Fisting her hands around the cuff of the garment, she leaned back and pulled until his legs were bare and she was an awkward pile on the floor... again.
Breathless, she looked him dead in the eye, struggling to get up. “Now, since you seem to be the shy type I am tempted to leave you in your drawers… but your balls won’t be coming out of your rib cage anytime soon if you don’t get warm and dry. Your call.”
He didn’t answer, so she stood, reaching for a kitchen towel. Without asking, she began to dry his hair.
“Take the damn things off!” he snarled, batting her hands away.
Unimpressed with his attitude, she tossed the towel aside, reached under the blanket draped across his shoulders, and tugged at the elastic waistband of his briefs. For once he helped her, lifting his hips so she could pull the saturated fabric down his thighs.
Once it was done, River had had enough of him. “I guess I should have mentioned your testicles from the start… it would have made this a lot easier. And I mean this, cold or no, you’re an absolute asshole.”
And like that he was dismissed. Her wet clothes had to go and there was no point in being bashful when she was fucking freezing. Each layer was peeled off before the fire. Standing naked as the day she was born, River reached for another blanket, wrapped it around her, and built up the blaze with her free hand. New wood caught and flames were building. Warmth spreading, the woman went back to where he sat, and she reached an arm around him. Pulling rudely, she took him to the old sofa, sat him before the fire, adjusting the scratchy blanket on his shoulders before adding another to his lap.
She palmed his cheeks, turning his head left to right, persistent when he tried to jerk out of her grasp. “You might have a minor concussion. Your pupils are slightly dilated… Are you in pain?”
“No,” the denial was growled but meek.
His good behavior earned him a soft smile.
Standing, she took the same old wooden chair from the kitchen and set it before him, helping him lift his leg to elevate his injured foot, resting it on a throw pillow. “Let’s hope it’s not broken. Out here you will be in a world of trouble if it is. Not to mention potential pneumonia. Also, try not to die on my couch. You’re too fucking big to move by myself and grave digging in this weather…”
And with that, she left him and went to the kitchen. From the sofa, he heard the telltale click of a gas range igniting. When she reappeared, still wearing that blanket tucked around her breasts, the woman strung a cord from wall to wall, proceeding to hang up their dripping clothes, frowning at the water marking her floor. Glaring at him under lowered brows, seeing him watching her, she made it clear she was not at all happy about the state of her home or his part in it.
And what a bizarre home it was.
For starters, it was very small. Secondly, there were no modern comforts: no television, no washer or dryer, only a gas range for cooking and lanterns for light. For a female in these times, she was very strange. For a young female, she was even stranger.
Mismatched shelves lined the walls of her living room, titles jammed in, spines worn. That was what held her guest’s shaky attention as River puttered around, wiping the mud from the floor and muttering under her breath.